


Things Newts Do Well

by Aate



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: M/M, murder (attempts?)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-12
Updated: 2017-03-12
Packaged: 2018-10-03 04:59:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,893
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10236425
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aate/pseuds/Aate
Summary: Five times Newt got in the way of Percival's murder, more or less accidentally.*****(Please do not save my fics on fanfics.me. I don't want them saved there.)





	

When he came to work that morning, there was a python on the guest chair in front of his desk, and Percival was just as careful to keep the look on his face neutral as he was quick to pull the door closed behind him to shield the python from the view of any a passerby.

With a wave of his wrist, he sent his fashionable fedora and the coat still damp from the rain flying on the coat rack next to the liquor cabinet before making his way to the mahogany desk, adjusting his silvery cufflinks out of a persistent habit he had inherited from his grandfather along with the stone manor on the 77th street.

“Franks,” he greeted the python, undoing the buttons of his black suit, as he took his seat at the desk. “The bastard I was _not_ hoping to see today.”

The python flicked his forked tongue, the tail draped over the backrest moving but an inch. Despite of the green slime that clung to his belly, the python’s brown color pattern with gold sides and dorsal blotches gleamed in the light of the desk lamp Percival turned on with a bit of a glance. The look in the black eyes was clear and sharp, a fact Percival was relieved to note regardless of the reprimanding tone with which he spoke next,

“You better give me a damn good explanation as to why you have left your assigned post in the field before our scheduled meeting tomorrow afternoon. I take it there is trouble.”

The snake morphed into a black man – and the Deputy of Animagi Aurors, the tall Hugo Franks, still sitting on the chair, arranged his long lean limbs in a rather awkward manner, hunching his narrow shoulders like the need to try and avoid hitting his bald head on doorposts and ceiling lights had so ingrained the practice of hunching into him that he was constantly cautious of avoiding hitting his head on things, even when sitting down.

“Trouble – that’s pretty much it, sir, yes,” came his answer with a lisp. “I came here as fast as I could. I slithered up the pipelines to avoid being seen, undercover as I am, so I hope you take the circumstances into consideration to excuse my unkempt appearances.” He gestured at himself, at his coat covered in green slime. The stench was poignant. “I’m aware this goes against the uniform regulations, but it was simply unavoidable – the pipelines are quite slimy.”

It did go against the uniform regulations to be covered in green slime and Percival would have, under normal circumstances, already given the auror a firm oral reprimand, but regardless of his preferences to have every aspect of his department in order and organized (which included every auror minding the uniform regulations painstakingly), Percival was not an unreasonable man. Sometimes aurors did get dirty in the field, he was more than aware of this, having spent a considerable amount of time in the field himself, and since Franks was usually rather precise when it came to following regulations, Percival now simply muttered a quick cleaning spell and left the matter at that, noting with deep satisfaction the way Franks’ coat was cleaned by an invisible, yet efficient touch.

While the coat got clean as if by itself, Percival rapped his fingers against the smooth surface of his desk where the ever present piles of files and papers were a constant reminder of the way his work as an enforcer of law would never be done, not completely.

With a heavy weight landing on his shoulders, he understood the severity of the situation: Franks had now been undercover for eight months, posing in the streets of New York City as a Grindelwald supporter, and while Grindelwald’s fanatics hadn’t yet managed to organize their ranks in New York – partly due to MACUSA’s interference, thanks to Franks, partly because Grindelwald was not there to encourage them, hiding somewhere in Poland as he was after having escaped from his prison in England where the support for him was considerable – the potential was still there and it was Frank’s job to keep an eye on the situation, to report back to Percival once a week. To have the auror coming to meet him before the scheduled meeting – that boded trouble, a fact Franks had just confirmed.

Bringing his rapping fingers into a halt, Percival steepled them and leant back in his chair, giving Franks his full attention.

It would have been easier to choose ignorance, to protect one’s soul from darkness by staying as far away from Grindelwald and his supporters as possible – but Percival Graves was Director of Magical Security and it was his job to face the darkness, to protect civilians, no-maj and magic users alike.

His past personal traumas were irrelevant when it came to his job.

“What has happened?” he went straight to the point, never one to waste time when it came to matters of importance, no matter how unpleasant the important matters might have been. “Report, auror.”

Franks licked his lips, and while the black eyes met Percival’s gaze steadily, the narrow shoulders hunched further like the man was barely managing to resist the urge to roll up, like he wanted to take his animagus form. Drops of sweat were running down his bald head, his temples, and Franks was still wearing his thick coat like he had been in such a hurry to bring his report that he hadn’t even bothered with taking the time to remove it.

“There is no easy way to put this, sir,” he said, lisping, flicking his tongue like he hadn’t yet completely shaken off the mindset of his snake form, “but apparently Grindelwald doesn’t like to leave things unfinished – the word is, he’s put a price on your head, that fucking poor excuse of a human being. _‘For the fun of it,’_ as he’s put it. The bastard.”

Percival considered this, rubbing his jaw thoughtfully.

“Good,” he eventually settled for, only to be in the receiving end of a startled look before Franks managed to school his expression. “It’s not illegal per se to support Grindelwald in spirit, if you don’t act on it, but if Grindelwald supporters start to try and assassinate me, we will have a reason to lock them away. The more of them try, the more of them we can clear off the streets. We can use this to our advantage.”

“But, sir,” Franks' voice was dubious even if his expression remained carefully guarded, “what about your safety? I know what that _disgusting filth_ is capable of, they are not shy to share their sick thoughts with each other, with me. The threat they pose is not to be taken lightly.”

“I’m aware.”

Percival flicked his finger in order for the pen on the writing stand to fly straight to his waiting hand. He took the cap off it and fished for his leather notebook from his inside pocket, turning the first blank page.

“Realistically,” he went on even as he, practical as always, began to outline an updated version of his will just in case, “there is little we can do to prevent Grindelwald’s people from coming after me now that Grindelwald has made his wishes known. They _will_ be coming after me, one after another, and since I will _not_ be going into hiding, we might as well make the best out of the inconvenient situation.”

* * *

“You have to go into hiding,” was the first thing Seraphina Picquery said once Percival had explained the situation to her. “We have safe houses in all of the states, Percival, I know you have a list of them. Choose whichever.”

Percival sighed to himself, leaning his hands against her desk where the map of New York City had been spread out. The red dots on the map showed all the places where – according to Franks’ reports – Grindelwald supporters had gathered in groups of varying sizes, from three to eleven people. Thankfully, Grindelwald hadn’t so far gained much support on their side of the Atlantic, but as far as Percival was concerned, even one Grindelwald sympathizer was one too many.

“I choose the one in the 77th street,” he said with finality. “The white one with the black gate.”

Seraphina frowned, her fingers tapped against her crossed arms.

“The 77th street? I didn’t know we had a safe house there, I’m not familiar with it.“

“I am,” grumbled Percival, “because I _live in it_. It’s my home and it’s safe enough for me. I’m not leaving it.”

Seraphina’s eyes narrowed and her lips formed a tight line, but Percival went on before she managed to voice her thoughts,

“Grindelwald stole seven months of my life.”

That was enough to have Seraphina flinching, swallowing hard and looking away, ashamed as she was of the way they hadn’t found him sooner.

In her defense, after Grindelwald’s fourth month disguised as Percival, she and various Senior Aurors _had_ begun to think that something was of the matter with the head of the department: Never before had Percival Graves neglected paperwork, never before had he failed to reprimand any an auror he caught with a button undone, never before had his strategies for capturing dark wizards been so poorly thought out. It had been suspicious, but in the end, Picquery and the aurors had all put it down to stress, they had made the mistake of giving Director of Magical Security the benefit of doubt.

It hadn’t been until Newt Scamander had revealed Gellert Grindelwald where they all could see that they had put one and one together.

And all that time, Percival had been imprisoned in his own silvery matchbox, the one passed down to him from Gondulphus Graves, his ancestor and one of the original twelve Aurors for MACUSA. He had lied there, unconscious, under Gondulphus’ fancy monogram, under the coat of arms of his very own family, while Grindelwald had taken over his life, more or less successfully.

It had now been eleven months since Percival had been released from the hospital after the three months he had had to spent there for all the curses to be removed, for the healers to do their job, and the memory had hardly yet faded.

“He stole seven months of my life,” he repeated, regarding Seraphina coolly, “not counting the time it took me to heal, and I’m not going to lose _another day_ because of him. Grindelwald can’t force me into hiding. I’m going nowhere.”

The silence that followed the statement was uncomfortable, heavy with tension, but eventually she gave a sharp nod, finally meeting his gaze over the desk. She looked…

concerned, worried, disturbed.

“As you wish.” Her voice was resigned. “I do not approve, but it should be your decision, considering.”

It _was_ Percival’s decision, and he chose to go about his daily routines like he always did, refusing to let Grindelwald affect his life any more than the wizard already had.

* * *

Two days later, he was attacked by Grindelwald’s supporters for the first time.

It was completely coincidental that the attack happened to take place in the harbor at the very same time when one Newt Scamander came back to New York City with his newly published book, _Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soooo... My muse still hasn't come back, but I need to get back to writing anyway. Perhaps hurting Percival a bit can do the trick - one can always hope! Besides,
> 
> What do we want? More Gramander fics!  
> When do we want them? Now, please!
> 
> So if anyone has any good Gramander fic recs listed somewhere, do feel free to let me know. ;)
> 
> And if you'd like to read more of this fic, do let me know so 1) I'll be aware of it and 2) I'll continue being motivated to write more.
> 
> Thanks for reading!


End file.
